


Howling

by DaisyIfYouHave



Series: Post-WM Overwatch Universe [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyIfYouHave/pseuds/DaisyIfYouHave
Summary: The ghosts o the past always come back to haunt Winston, but Lena is the eternal ghostbuster





	Howling

**Author's Note:**

> Written after the reveal of the Lunar Colony Map!

The sun was out in London, and that should have been signal enough that it was going to be an unusual day. 

But Tracer did not look at the joys of her life with suspicion, simply enjoyed them for what they were, and the bright of the sun, coupled with the happiness of the weekend, allowing for Emily’s companionship, and paired masterfully with the picnic she’d packed that morning, blended together into the sort of day that Tracer could only describe as brilliant. 

“I ‘ave a mission.” She stared intensely at Emily, as she sprawled on her stomach across the blanket. “Something all of London, the world, even, is counting on.” 

“Oh do you now?” Emily smirked at her,  popping a chip into her mouth. 

“Critical, really.” Tracer set aside the bag of chips, “You want to know what it is?” 

“Don’t think I have the clearance, Lena,” She reached over and stroked her hair, “Secret agent, aren’t you?” 

“Just guts me to say this, it does, but it involves you, love,” she sighed heavily, “not the sort of life I wanted for you.” she shook her head and looked at Emily woefully. “I ‘ave to kiss every freckle on your body.” 

Emily laughed. “We’re in the middle of Hyde Park, Lena. You’re gonna no do–” 

Tracer tackled her in a single quick pounce, Emily squealing in surprise as she did it, and covered her with kisses, over her shoulders and neck, Emily laughing and half-heartedly telling her to get off, now. But Tracer would not yield, and bounced from spot to spot, when she lifted Emily’s dress just above the thigh and kissed the pale spots there. 

“LENA!” Emily glowed red and pulled down her dress, Tracer giggling happily and rocking back, swinging forward in a grin. “Fuck’s sake.” but she laughed as she said it, playfully pushing Tracer to the side, who collapsed dramatically into the grass. 

“Gave me all for king and country, let it be said.” She paused only for a second, then rolled up quickly to seated again, ruffling her hair, all bounce and joy. “We ‘ave  more of the chicken salad?”

 Emily peeked into the bag, rummaging around, as a pair of passers-by carried on a conversation Emily could barely hear, and wasn’t paying attention to besides–something about the news and the moon. 

When she looked up, the play had dropped from Tracer’s face, her eyes wide as she scrolled through her phone. 

“I ‘ave to go, Emily.” She gathered up her bag quickly. 

“For why?” Emily got nothing in response, just Tracer pulling back on the front of her own bangs and springing to her feet, a world away from Hyde Park now. “Lena? You a’right?” 

Tracer half-dashed off, and then turned back, trying to form the words. “I ‘ave to be with Win, just now, Emily.” She looked apologetic, but her foot still racing to leave. “‘E needs me.” 

Emily nodded. “Then go to him. Don’t have him waiting on you. Not for me.” 

Tracer nodded so many times she looked like a bobblehead in the back of a bumpy car, and touched the edge of her temple nervously. “Thanks, love.” 

She sped away as fast as she could go, and Emily looked at the remains of their picnic, and a bit sad. Her phone vibrated as a news article came in. 

_**Failed Moon Experiment Returns?** Gorilla Life Likely at Colony, New Transmissions Find._ 

Emily looked up where Tracer had been, as if her feelings could be carried on Tracer’s feet. 

“Oh, poor Winston.” 

___ 

“Calling: Tracer.” Athena’s voice echoed through the room. 

“Cancel call.” Winston commanded, giving a wave of his hand, as if the emphasis mattered at all to Athena. 

“I believe it is typical, to have friends nearby, in a time of emotional unrest.” 

Athena was only a program, and Winston knew this. Winston had made her. She called Tracer because that was what Winston did when he was upset. It wasn’t just that she was non-biological–she did not have the spark of self-awareness omnics had. Truly, a machine. 

And yet, she still had a way of sounding insistent and annoyed, when Winston ignored her. 

It was a beautiful day, and Tracer would be off enjoying it. She loved the sunshine and the outside, and she didn’t have many opportunities like this one. She likely hadn’t even heard the news. She likely wouldn’t for hours. And, in any case, she couldn’t make it go away, the feelings of it, the pain of it, something that should have been resolved years ago. 

Winston had always assumed the other gorillas had died, after everything that had happened at the colony and he’d left. How to grow food, how to fix the colony, all of these things were incredibly complex, and Winston had always believed they would not have been able to handle them. It had been easier, that way, imagining the moon as nothing but the vast graveyard that held the only thing he had known as family, shining in the sky every night, reminding him of how he was an outsider and an oddball there as well as here, never belonging to either world. 

But now, the dead rose from their graves. 

Simon had been dangerous and unkind, even when they were children, and he had led the rebellion that left the scientists dead, that forced Winston to see his father crumpled in a ball, broken and murdered, the screeching and laughter of the others a terrible soundtrack to his worst moment. 

He had not been able to be angry then, only afraid. The anger came later. 

But this feeling was neither anger nor fear, nor even, really, sorrow, but some undefinable burst of pain and longing and terrible emptiness. He had searched for so long to rid himself of the ghost of the colony, and he had, he’d thought. He had left behind fear and anger and found happiness, and optimism. He had a team that cared about him. He made a difference in the world.  He had family with Tracer, and with Emily, and with all of Lena’s assorted aunts and uncles and cousins. 

And now those old feelings, the ones that made him feel the loneliest, had returned. 

He thought of Tracer, who would call him silly for not calling her. Who might even be angry about it, wondering why he didn’t think she would want to be there with him. He could already see her argument, the way she would pop around hm as she declared that she had every right to take care of him, and he wasn’t going to say anything about it. 

But no. It was better if Tracer stayed away. 

There was a knock at the door, and Athena seemed smug, if that were possible. 

“Tracer is at the front entrance.” She announced.

 Winston would not have needed Athena to tell him that–Tracer was sometimes disorganized in mind as well as office, but she had a particular gift for sensing Winston’s need for companionship and for affection, no matter how little he wanted to see her at the moment. 

And her knock was particularly insistent. 

Maybe, if he stayed quiet, she would leave, he thought, proving that we may know something for years and still think things might be different, just this one time.

 “Wiiiiiiiinstooooooooon!” She called through the door. “It’s Lena!” 

There was a certain charity in Tracer imagining anyone else would come to him, but then again, she was the kind of person who simply had that inner charity. If she loved Winston, it made sense to her that everyone else would, even if he was a gorilla, born of a failure, a failure that still lurked, a failure that might hurt others.

 “WIIIIIIIIINSTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!” her voice pierced the very walls. 

“Tracer is at the front entrance.” Athena added helpfully. 

Winston huffed and went to the front door, swinging it open. He looked down to see a tiny, grinning face staring up at him, clutching her overnight bag and a bag from Tesco.

 “I brought me pajamas and such! Figure’d we’d ‘ave a nice sleepover.” She did not wait for Winston’s say-so, but bounced through the door. “Bit of food, as well, there’s bananas and peanut butter, I went all the way to the Tesco with an American section so as to get your brand. S’why I’m be’ind, a bit. That, and,” she chuckled, “got a bit distracted. Is me, innit?” 

Winston shook his head and turned away from her. “I don’t want anything.” 

Tracer set down her things in the door and followed Winston. “We could order takeaway, if I ‘aven’t picked well. Anywhere you like, I’ll even get it, if I ‘ave to.”

 “You should go home, Lena.”

 Tracer ignored him, and walked over to her charging base, flipping it on as she slipped out of her accelerator, the room humming with the pulse that kept her anchored. “I am ‘ome. I live ‘ere.” 

Winston snorted. “I let you stay here while your house was being renovated for your accelerator. That doesn’t make it yours.” 

“Win, the little bedroom still says ‘Lena’ on the door.” Her face changed for a moment, her eyes going back and forth as she thought. “Win, did I do something? Or didn’t? I came fast as I could, when I ‘eard. I just wanted to make it a bit better, so I stopped. I don’t mean to take so long.” 

She was actually worried that she had hurt Winston, somehow, and he could hear it in her voice. He knew, if he turned around, if he looked at her, her wide brown eyes would be searching him, trying to discern what she’d done, and how she could undo it.

 “I love you, Win.” She reached over and touched his back. “Please tell me.” 

Winston turned around, and Tracer embraced him, hugging as hard as she could, burying her cheek into his body.

 He went to put his arm around her, to return her affection, to sweep her up in the crook of his arm and tell her to put her pajamas on, that it was so kind of her to have brought things for him and her little sloth sleeper was hanging in the closet, if she wanted to bundle up. 

But instead, he pushed her away. “It’s not you. I just want to be alone.” 

“You ‘ate being alone. What’s wrong, love?” She toyed with her earring.  “Whatever it is–” 

“It’s nothing!” He stormed away from her, toward his small kitchen. 

She followed in hot pursuit, refusing to let him go, annoyed now instead of hurt. She stayed by him. She took care of him. She loved him. 

He could hear Simon, laughing. 

“Win, I don’t know why–” 

He could see him with a tiny orange parcel in his hands, see him dumping Tracer in front of Winston. 

“–you’re being so bloody difficult about this. We’ve–” 

How her body was at odd angles, the way he’d twisted her spine and crushed her ribs. 

“–gone through everything, we have, you and me–” 

He could see the look of pain in her eyes, how he hadn’t been quick with it. 

“–and I ‘ave every right–”

 “He’ll kill you!” It roared out of his mouth, a shout that was more like a cry, if gorillas could cry, if he could be human, and Tracer stopped for a moment, looking at him with mild confusion, her head cocked. 

“What?” Her face twisted in consideration.

 “Simon. Who led the rebellion.” Winston sighed heavily and slumped onto the couch, his brow heavy. “If Simon knows about you,” he touched her shoulder, not looking at her, not able to look, “he’ll kill you, Lena. He killed Dr. Winston. He–” Winston looked off, “he wanted to punish me. He thought I was the favorite, and he wanted to punish me.” 

“Well, ‘e sounds a bloody treat, ‘e does.” She patted his hand. “Bit offended by the lack of faith in me, love.” 

Winston shook his head. “I’m serious. He’s as smart as me, but bigger, and more cruel. You shouldn’t be here.” He took a picture of him and Tracer, sitting on the end table, and flipped it facedown. “You need to go.” 

“Well, that ‘urt me feelings,” she flipped the photo back up, “this is a good picture of us, Win.” She jumped up onto his shoulder and laid her head on his. “”E won’t get the better of me.” 

“And if he does?” 

“People die for their families all the time, love. It’s a noble way to go, and I’ll be proud for it.” 

“For their family.” He mumbled it to himself. 

Tracer slid down and took his forehead to hers. “For their family. We’ll do it together, Win.” She pulled away and grinned. “Aside from all that, number one, we know I’m rubbish at dying, better people than Simon ‘ave tried. Completely lack the focus required, I think.  And number two,” She jumped down onto the ground, “So far e’s still on the bloody moon, Winston!” She shook her head. “Don’t borrow trouble, it’ll come for you without the ‘elp.” 

_You_ can _die, though. I almost watched you do it._ It was easy to forget, as Tracer bounced into her pajamas and zipped up the front of the sloth lounger against the chill of London’s night air, the warm of the day having been replaced with a cold, damp feeling. _And I can’t do that, Lena, I can’t have found my person, my family, again, and have someone hurt you, because of me. Those years of loneliness–_

As if sensing his anxiety, She jumped next to him on the couch. “Winston,” she patted his leg, “I won’t let you be lonely. No matter what becomes of me.”

The doorbell rang, and Athena’s voice came overhead. 

“Taste of Nawab is at the front entrance.” 

Winston shook his head. “I didn’t order delivery.” 

Tracer nodded as she quickly shuffled toward the door, as if this proved her point about the possibilities of the world. “Well there we are, then, born under a lucky star. And I’ll bet,” she waved her finger at Winston, “There’s pakoras.” 

She swung open the door to bags of food, held aloft by a weighed down delivery boy.

 “Oxton and Winston?” He looked at her, his eyes desperately pleading that the answer was yes. 

“Brilliant!” Tracer began to take some of the bags, never doubting for a second that the universe had sent her Indian food. “Win, I need your ‘elp!” 

“Compliments of Emily. She hopes,” he took a note out of his pocket, “Winston feels better, and you have a proper night in together.” 

“See?” Tracer grinned, taking a pakora (for there were, as she predicted, pakoras) out of the bag and taking a big bite.” Ou oh W’ffs,” She chewed and swallowed “World’s chock full of beautiful moments, Win, so let’s don’t worry about something that might never ‘appen.” 

Winston took the rest of the bags, stared up at the moon in the sky, and hoped.


End file.
